Hooked

by Ev Bishop

  He shivered as he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. He’d be darned if he couldn’t smell snow. It wasn’t really going to snow in February, was it? That would be just his luck.

  Beside him Aisha went through the ordeal of securing her seatbelt around her beach ball belly, but she kept darting glances at him, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before her interrogation started. But what could he say? There was nothing to say. No news to report. Just her to think about. Her and the baby.

  Charles Bailey becomes a grandparent, lets extended family heal his heart, and learns that romantic love is only one type of love—and maybe not even the most important type. Yes, that would be his life’s new storyline.

  As he rolled out of the parking lot, he felt cautiously optimistic, despite the threat of the approaching cold spell.

  Chapter 11

  Sam was standing in the checkout line, a small grocery cart packed full. She couldn’t help it. She shopped when she was stressed—and somehow even tins of soup were soothing. She fidgeted with the strap on her oversized leather bag, and sipped her deliciously fragrant Chai. Whoever initially thought of putting coffee kiosks into grocery stores was brilliant.

  Her ode to beverages was interrupted up by a boisterous, testosterone-filled purr. “Sam, is that you? You’re back? You look amazing.”

  She sighed inwardly, but readied herself for the social game. Putting a friendly smile on her face, she pivoted to face the huge blond guy greeting her with a big grin of his own. “Dave—hey. I’m flattered you remember who I am, let alone what I look like.”

  “Like a guy could ever forget you.”

  Sam wanted to roll her eyes and ask him what planet he lived on. After all, he had to live in a different world if he thought they were friends. It hadn’t been that long since he’d done all he could to wreck Jo and Callum’s relationship. She’d practically had to drag him by his ear to Jo’s to get him to straighten out the huge rift he’d caused with his lies. For all she knew he was still pining to get into Jo’s pants. He was scheming, two-faced, pathetic, transparently lonely, and really good-looking—so naturally she also identified with him and couldn’t help but like him a little. Dave was in the candy bar category of men, not good for you at all and not the same quality as real chocolate—but tempting and sort of yummy all the same. The analogy made her smile more sincerely.

  “So how are things, Dave?”

  By the time she was through the checkout line, she’d accepted Dave’s invitation to work out at his gym, but turned down his offer of a free membership. (She only joked about letting guys pay. She’d learned the hard way that nothing was free the year she got pregnant with Aisha.) She’d even said maybe to going out for dinner. Jo would think she was nuts—nothing new there—but if Sam didn’t have the odd invite to leave the bed-and-breakfast, she’d go nuts for real.

  He walked her out to the Mercedes and whistled softly when he got close to it—which earned him a point. She was still a little awed by her ride, too. As a kid she’d planned to have money, to be able to buy not only things she needed but also things she wanted—and yet a tiny part of her was still surprised she’d made it happen. And she didn’t rest easy either. She was all too aware that the minute you relaxed, felt this was it, life was finally secure, the rug was bound to be pulled out from under you.

  Dave was saying something.

  “Pardon? I’m sorry, I got distracted for a second.”

  Dave leaned against the SUV, solidly losing the point he’d just gained. “By me, I hope.”

  More like you wish, Sam thought. She laughed and smiled. (Sometimes she felt like a damned marionette. Laugh, smile, twirl—and again. And again.)

  “What?” Dave’s tone changed, became slightly alarmed. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, no, I’m just preoccupied with some stuff.” Like a mental breakdown.

  Dave stepped away from her, which meant he moved off the Mercedes. One good thing. “Is this ‘stuff’ anything I can help with?”

  “No. Thanks though. You’re sweet.”

  She opened the passenger door and placed her grocery bags in one by one. Apparently her words, tone and gesture reassured him that she wasn’t going to be all needy. “I’m serious about dinner, Samantha.”

  She faced him, and rested her hand on his chest. He looked down and his smile grew. Yep, transparent and pathetic, all right—but all too easy to manipulate. Not kindred spirits at all then. Her empathy waned. “We’ll see, Dave. We’ll see.”

  The evening passed uneventfully. Sam went for a walk, wanting to get a better look at the other cabins. She had tried the first evening—the night she’d come across Charlie staring at the door to Silver cabin—but it had been too dark.

  Now she was delighted by what she saw in the other three rentals. “Chinook” was the largest. It looked big enough to house a family and had its own fenced yard, complete with a small wooden fort and jungle gym thing for kids.

  “Spring” was the most hidden and out of the way. It was bizarrely tall and narrow. Perhaps there was a room per floor? It was also the most beaten up, obviously still going through the renovation process.

  “Minnow” was significantly smaller than the rest, with a tiny sheltered porch that housed a large black rocking chair. An oval platform rested on the porch railing beside the chair, serving as a table. Very clever. She had to hand it to Jo. The whole property was cute as a button, but in a relaxed, artsy way—not frou-frou or fussy.

  She walked along a well-beaten trail and came across two more graying cabins that had been framed and roofed, then deserted before completed. Sam didn’t know if they’d be easily restored or renovated, but felt pleased nonetheless. There was definitely room for Jo and Callum to grow the business, should they wish to. A bittersweet pang of pride and happiness hit her. Jo was really doing it. Risking everything—all the money she’d inherited from their Uncle Ray’s place and her heart once more to the guy who had originally crushed it—to build the home and business she’d always envisioned. She was a fool to do so, of course, but a brave, admirable one at least.

  Back in Rainbow, chilled but surprisingly mellow, she changed into a pair of paisley print men’s pajamas. Then she ate a can of chunky pea soup for dinner, enjoyed a bourbon and ginger ale—just one—and retired to her room to read and check out her long-term stock charts, wanting to be out of the way whenever Charlie returned.

  At some point, tucked into the admittedly gorgeous and seductive Egyptian cotton sheets and down duvet, she dozed off. It was late when the click of the cabin’s front door and a soft rumble of voices woke her. For a second she wondered where she was. When she remembered, she curled onto her side and tucked her pillow close. As she relaxed into the hazy comfort of dropping back to sleep, she indulged in a game she’d played as a girl the odd time she slept over at a rare friend’s house—imagining that the household noises and family sounds belonged to her home, her family.

  Chapter 12

  A hard crust of frozen slush-snow covered everything, turning it all—the deck, the railing, the stairs, the whole parking lot—into a treacherous slipping risk.

  “Damn. We didn’t expect to need someone out to gravel and salt this late in the year,” Jo fretted, then added, “And how do you even walk in those things? If you fall, it’s your own fault. No suing.”

  Sam laughed. “Of course I wouldn’t sue you. Set myself up here permanently and let you pamper my paralyzed ass for the rest of my life, yes, but not sue—and besides, what are you complaining about anyway? I’m wearing boots.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jo scoffed, her eyes dropping to Sam’s knee-high suede wedges. “These are boots.” She lifted her left leg and waggled her foot to show off the clunky felt-packed, rubber-soled monstrosity she sported—then almost lost her balance and clutched Sam for support.

  “Hey—you’re the one who’s going to make us both fall. And those aren’t boots. They’re embarrassments.”

  They bo
th giggled and continued to half-mince, half-glide toward the main house.

  “I just hope it stays cold. If it warms up another degree or two, we’ll get a hideous dump of snow.”

  Sam raised her eyebrow. “I thought you ‘adore’ snow?”

  Jo lightly punched Sam’s arm. “I do. Just more so pre-Christmas and less so when I’m looking forward to spring and hoping no one falls to their deaths on my property.”

  A blaring series of loud beeps carried in the still morning air, warning that a heavy vehicle was backing up, followed by the roar of a heavy-duty engine crawling along the driveway.

  “They managed to fit us in,” Jo said. “Thank goodness.”

  “Yeah, a no death policy at your bed-and-slip-fest is a good idea, for sure,” Sam agreed. They made their way into the dining room where not a sign of breakfast was left, though a fragrant memory of it lingered in the air.

  “You missed out,” Jo said. “Can I make you something?”

  “No, and don’t you dare offer that option to other guests either. End your breakfast promptly at nine on weekdays and eleven on weekends, as advertised, or you’ll get a reputation for being easy and you’ll end up cooking all day, every day.”

  “Well, I sure wouldn’t want a reputation for being easy,” Jo deadpanned. Callum chose that moment to walk in from the kitchen and gave her a very funny look, causing Jo and Sam to burst out laughing. He shook his head and retreated the way he’d come, which only made them giggle harder.

  “Are you sure you’re all right staying with Charlie?” Jo asked.

  “Absolutely. We’ve come to a perfect arrangement. We don’t speak and we don’t see each other. Seriously, I worked in my room in the early hours, then left for most of the day and he went off for most of the night. If things stay like this, it’s ideal.”

  Jo shook her head. “He’s not a terrible guy, you know. Your instincts about him and Maureen all those years ago were right on the money. Aisha is a great person, smart, funny, strong—and I think she deeply loved her parents and grew up knowing she was deeply loved in return.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all’s swell that ends up with a runaway, pregnant teen.”

  “Okay, wow. That’s not fair, or even accurate. Aisha’s not a runaway. And yes, she’s young, but she’s graduated, at least. And as for her belly full of ‘Surprise!’ . . . in case it’s slipped your mind, that happens to the best of us, occasionally.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sam repeated and helped herself to a coffee from the beverage caddy. She kept her back turned to Jo, taking her time doctoring her mug. “And what do I say to her? What do we talk about? She probably hates me or will when she gets to know me.”

  Jo patted Sam’s shoulder and her hand was a comforting weight, but whatever words Jo might’ve added for extra encouragement were cut off.

  The dining room door swung open. “Oh, you beat me here? Sorry. I’m ready whenever you are.” Aisha sounded confident and casual, like they met and hung out all the time.

  Sam massaged her temples once, then turned. “Sounds great.” She was beyond relieved that her voice sounded just as chipper and calm as Aisha’s had.

  Their drive to downtown Greenridge was only slightly awkward. Aisha directed Sam where to turn and Sam let her, despite knowing the place well. At least they weren’t dead silent. They ended up at the funky little coffee shop on Main Street called The Zoo.

  Sam had no idea what kind of person dreamed up the idea to decorate a restaurant with life-sized wire sculptures of animals, but somehow it really worked—and had the added bonus of being a conversation starter. As she and Aisha waited in line for their beverages—chai tea lattes for both of them—they decided on favorites. Aisha loved them all, but was particularly enamored with two baby elephants, one sitting, one standing, behind a low couch.

  “They’re just so cute. I love how the one holds his sister’s tail in his trunk.”

  Yeah, almost too cutesy. Sam voted for a giraffe almost hidden from view by a large leafy tree in the back corner of room.

  The rest of the visit was paradoxically both smoother and more bizarre than Sam had anticipated. It reminded Sam of a job interview (one she wasn’t quite sure she was nailing) by someone who’d obviously done her homework and knew a lot about the person she was interviewing. Aisha had obviously drilled Jo, too.

  Aisha brought up nurture versus nature, expressing surprise. She’d always believed that nurture trumped all, but now that she’d met Jo and Sam and noticed weird similarities and idiosyncrasies between herself and them—the types of things she previously would’ve thought you picked up from people you lived with—she felt genetics were extremely powerful. She found that both fascinating and disheartening. Sam couldn’t help but relate.

  Aisha asked intelligent questions about how Sam had made her money on the stock market in the past, why she wasn’t a day trader anymore, and how she currently lived off her investments.

  Sam tried to not feel criticized when Aisha shook her head and mused, “I couldn’t do that. I want to do something that helps other people or the environment or something. I could never just be interested in money for the sake of making more money or having money.”

  Sam fidgeted with an empty creamer and forced a chuckle. “Well, don’t knock it ’til you’ve ever lived without it.”

  Aisha gave her a look, then nodded.

  They exchanged lists of likes and dislikes, including silly things like favorite pastimes and foods. Sam was relieved by the safety of this new direction, only to be shown as the end of their hour approached that Aisha had lulled her into a false sense of comfort.

  “So I purposely avoided questions about my birth father and circumstances surrounding my adoption, and what your thoughts are about whether I should keep the bean”—she pointed at her belly—“or give her to someone else, but I’d like you to think about it and give me as much info and advice as you’re comfortable with, soon.”

  Aisha might be seventeen in earth years, Sam thought, but she was eighty in alien-daughter years.

  As they walked out of The Zoo, Aisha waved good-bye to the multi-pierced young guy behind the counter. Sam noticed he blushed and she raised an eyebrow at Aisha. “New flame?”

  Aisha shook her head—too vigorously, if you asked Sam—and motioned at her stomach. “Nah. I’m like four hundred months pregnant.”

  “If you say so.” Sam shrugged.

  Just before Sam climbed into the Mercedes, after making sure Aisha didn’t need a ride anywhere, Aisha added, “It looks like we could’ve talked longer, but I didn’t want it to be too much, you know?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Same time and place tomorrow?”

  “You bet. Sounds good.” Sam watched Aisha move away, surprisingly light on her feet considering her bulk, and then started the vehicle.

  She shared Aisha’s opinion that the visit hadn’t been as grueling as it could’ve been, but she wasn’t fully reassured. After all, Aisha’s “think about it” comment said it all. This had been the easy session. The hard stuff, the things Sam didn’t like thinking about let alone talking about, was yet to come.

  *

  Charles tried to work. He really did. But he needed tea (lemon-ginseng to be exact). And then he needed a long hot shower. And then he figured he should tidy up because . . . well, for no good reason, actually. He was totally stalling and he totally knew why. It had grown dark. Late afternoon had stretched into evening and now it was night—and Samantha and Aisha still weren’t back.

  Yet he was 99.9 percent confident they were safe, were probably just getting along as well as he’d feared, had “hit it off” as the saying goes. After all, he’d texted Aisha as many times as he could get away with and she’d responded each time with little smiling emoticons or one word answers that told him nothing except she was fine.

  Still when you were as pregnant as Aisha, things could change in an instant—and she’d worried him yesterday. She seemed like she was in pain—yet she insis
ted all was well, that he was “as usual” being a freak and worrying about nothing. He paced while his open laptop glared at him from across the shadowy room. . . . Aisha would just have to suck it up. He wasn’t a freak. He was a parent. And parents worried. That’s what they did. Obsessively. Compulsively. Against their own will, for crying out loud! And if kids came with how-to-raise-them manuals (like they should!), there would’ve been a full chapter devoted to the subject, titled something catchy like, “Worrying About Your Child—and why you shouldn’t worry that you worry because it’s unavoidable.”

  He stared out the window once more. The day’s earlier frigid temperatures had eased, which only worsened the weather. The cold gleam of the parking lot’s lone streetlight revealed a punishing mixture of snow and ice-rain pellets hurtling toward the ground.

  His phone beeped. In his race to answer, he almost upended the big easy chair between him and the coffee table.

  A reply to his last text. He could hear Aisha’s annoyance, despite her purple balloon letter font. “Turning off phone. At movie. TTYT.”

  Talk to you tomorrow, hey? He wished she’d at least pop by the cabin to say good-night, so he’d know when she got back safe and sound. He fired off a quick reply saying just that, hoping she’d get the message before she clicked off.

  Determined to bang out a couple hundred words before he gave up altogether and climbed into his car to “casually” go find them, he sat back down on the couch.

  He reread his last paragraph and was freshly reminded of how he’d based Simone on Samantha. His hands hovered over the keyboard as he tried to reimagine her, but then he shook his head. He was being stupid. No one but him cared where he drew inspiration from—and Simone was based on an imaginary version of Sam anyway. No doubt the character would change and grow and become unrecognizably different in every way. He was just looking for reasons to procrastinate. Besides . . . he couldn’t believe he was even admitting this to himself, it was kind of fun to have a muse. It had been a long time and maybe that was another bonus. Readers would probably welcome a new type of heroine from him.